


Green Glass Bottle

by orphan_account



Series: Writing Prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Endverse, Gen, prelude thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy's skin itches, it aches. He is frayed cuffs, dried sweat and food stains. The Winchesters stitch his skin up like it's the tears in his jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Glass Bottle

When Cas Fell, he did more than lose his Grace. 

Imagine waking up one day to find out you were nothing but the last set of clothes you wore. Your favourite outfit, even. Nothing but the thin, confining cover you had wrapped yourself in. You want to move? No. You want to talk? No. You can't even _think_ in the ways that you used to.

Jimmy's skin itches, it aches. He is frayed cuffs, dried sweat and food stains. The Winchesters stitch his skin up like it's the tears in his jeans. 

-

Castiel had always enjoyed the beauty of water, Before. Still lakes, raging waterfalls, hammering raindrops. He peels his suit from his suit ( _him_ ) and watches through the washer door as it swirls and sloshes and sloops. Everything comes clean again, and the sodden fabric hides the jagged tears he has collected. Good as new.

Cas comes back from the laundromat to Dean and Sam still celebrating their successful hunt. Sam sits at the rickety motel table, attention half on the beer he's nursing and half on the laptop in front of him. Dean reclines on one of the beds, ankles crossed and already on his third beer; the two empty bottles sit on the headboard behind him, over his shoulder. He looks up as Cas enters, face brightening. 

"Cas, man!" He shuffles up the bed and pats the spot beside him, pointing at the mini fridge with the bottle in his hand. "Grab a drink, celebrate. Those vamps were sneaky sons of bitches." Obediently, Cas drops the clothes on the other bed and retrieves a beer, perching bedside Dean and feeling the mattress dip beneath him. He tips the bottle back and lets the liquid slip down his throat, faint burn. Beside him, Dean smiles easy and open, the day's hardness melting from around his eyes. Cas likes them like this.

Cas lets his hand fall to his lap, cradling the bottle. Creases disappear from his elbow and appear at his wrist. Odd, how many creases he has, is supposed to have. Sam says a (fabric) suit (not flesh and blood and bone) looks much more respectable when the creases are ironed out. 

The alcohol has settled in his belly, and warmth is spreading out like a miniature sun. He imagines it as the way his Grace used to appear, blinding heat and light, pure energy. He takes another sip, long draw. 

Grace swells along his arms, down into his fingers and rumbles in his midsection. He places the bottle beside Dean's two, hollow clink, and gets another one. Dean toasts him, Grace sparks as their fingers brush. He fills up with liquid Grace, battered fabric imperfections being washed away. 

He is walking to get his third drink when he abruptly changes course for the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet and gagging up all the beer he has just drunk. Warm hands press to his shoulder, gently pulling him up and fetching a washcloth. "You okay, man? Slow at first, your liver's pretty new." Dean. Cas leans into him, lets Dean take both their weights, because Dean is strong.

Cas rinses his mouth out and Dean talks him into drinking a simple glass of juice. His eyes track Dean as he picks up his half-empty bottle and takes a swig, carefully watching him in return. Cas relaxes under the gaze, focuses on calling up the memory of heat-light blooming through him. His stomach churns like the clothes in the washing machine, and he can still feel the (nearlynotreally) Grace pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Cas sighs and sinks into dreams where he glows with Grace and soars high as ever, and as free of responsibility and choice.

-

The three of them stop for a salt and burn on the way back to Bobby's. The smoke makes Cas's eyes water and his throat sting, and he can't see the dull human colours or focus on the too-much-too-little of his reality. He coughs, the wind kicks a lungful of smoke at him, darkness closes in, and he is laying a few meters away, back pressed to cool, damp grass. There. Here. Were it not for Dean and Sam's worried voices above him, he could almost believe he did it himself.

**Author's Note:**

> A kind of pre-The End fic.


End file.
